Untitled Expectations
by blowersgate
Summary: Gregory House and Lisa Cuddy were everything to each other. Up until they lost their soul to a harmful issue. Can they survive this? Dark themes, alcohol. Rated M.
1. You Can't Love More Than Once

New story! Hopefully I won't stop writing that one halfway through it like the last one.

Edit: I realized there were errors of pronouns in parts not using my bad version of "stream of consciousness" in my first draft. I rectified all that, I think.

You Can't Love More Than Once.

Have you ever tasted a black cherry? for a long period of time, I mean. That is to say if you can eat one fruit, let's say, for fifty years… Not going to happen. A man though, ah, a man! One you are willing to try for a long, long time. Especially someone like him, the man I equated with the hatred to my love, the love to my hatred, a black cherry to my own dysfunctional flavor. Things had been going sour for a while between us, until he put an end to it. And yet, tonight, he's tracing lazy feathery circles with his fingers on his chest, enjoying what's left of his post-coital bliss. I'm by his side, trying to make up what this is.

_This_ has been going on for a few weeks now. He comes to my house, out of the blue at God knows what hour of the night and manages to have sex with me. And I can never say no. As he gets out of bed, I realize he hasn't been looking at me, not once… and I hate to say it that way, but not once since the deed was done. It is the first time that I understand why I hate him so much. He came in with eyes too indescribable to qualify as sad, too hurtful to describe as something.

He's now putting his boxers back on and I remain still and keep observing him. He knows I won't keep my eyes off him but he won't say anything. You know he tastes like cherry, right? Probably not; only I know what he tastes like. I'm lying, uneasy, flat on my back on my side of the bed and the other side is just empty and yet, he is not freed from it. I wish he could see how handsome he is, back and front, from head to toe. If he can't love me anymore, could he at least pretend he did not wish to hurt me so much?

Through a tangle of limbs he gets away with the fact that we don't have a relationship anymore. He turns around, his disheveled attire back on and is ready to leave any second. I close my eyes just in time for I don't want to see him leave this mess of a room. And internally, in this conversation with the confines of myself, I'm holding back tears. Whether he dares to look at me one last time or not, I'm ready to cry and I don't want to see this image, the vision of him, blurred by my regretful sight and self. I have destroyed him with my awful expectations, thought Cuddy before she heard the door close with a soft bang and cried vehemently.

We could have had it all, couldn't we? Why am I trying so hard not to get away from her? It hurts to do this. I don't care what it does to her… she's just needy. 'I love you', she had said to me. Aren't you supposed to try and do your best to secure the most important connection this disastrous thing we call life has to offer? I wish I could believe in lies; that way, I wouldn't feel guilty about ruining her like she has ruined me. As House stood by the door he wished it were soundproof. Even within the scope of her walls she can't make me feel like how I used to feel. Ironic? Yes. Surprising? He shrugged that thought away and commenced his newly emerged ritual towards the front door which consisted in turning the lights on so that he wouldn't trip on anything –even though he knew the way out. And which eventually consisted in turning the lights out once he would reach the front door.

"House?" He heard the faint voice of a sleepy Rachel.

"Go back to bed." Not again, he thought.

"Me and Toothless crr – eeture miss you very much." Sometimes that kid is just too cute and too good of a listener for me to handle. How do you explain to a six year old kid that her mommy and you have a non-working, worse than the very definition of non-relationship relationship? "We want you." Rachel stated, speaking on behalf of the object House wanted to keep for himself on a day at the fair. Why did Cuddy have to insist that I should bond with her daughter more and give her the teddy I had won? Yes, those were the good days, he thought as he figured he couldn't help but give the kid the hug the controversial teddy bear she was holding out stood for.

"Don't you want me?" The little girl asked.

"No, I just want Toothless Creature." I will never forget Cuddy's face when I christened that teddy bear's name. "She hates its name, your mommy I mean. I need to protect it."

"Is that why you come here at night but never stay? You trying to steal it again, House?" The innocence of a child will never cease to amaze me. As regards to the stealing though, she's laughing. What a smart kid you are Rachel! Don't grow up. Grown-ups lie and they need to disappear from this world to find what innocence means again. Can one be sinless in a non-extant afterlife? Anyway, who cares? This is not my afterlife and yet I feel there cannot be any redemption for a fucking, useless, hopeless bastard and a once successful bitch now bitch with no moral.

"May-be" House said, trying to look innocent but failing to do so quite beautifully. He observed Rachel clutch at 'his creature', "Anyway you, I have to go." He said releasing the kid.

"House?" Okay that one sounds like trouble. He watched the little girl intensely. "I want you to be my daddy again." And this is what prompts me to think the delusion that I was ever a part of that girl's life was in fact none. She never got my answer though as I limped out of that demoniac house by the time I heard the master's bedroom door click.

* * *

I hate that mirror, Cuddy sighed. Look at yourself, Lisa Cuddy. You either look like you've been thoroughly fucked the night before or like you've been crying baby tears. Well both, actually. Did you enjoy the night? You idiot. I hate my eyes. And I love-, what was to come out of this silent confrontation with her bathroom mirror came to a halt. House had probably sneaked into her office or the depth of her thoughts had rendered her deaf.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. (Don't look at me with those eyes, I hate them. I do.)

"In my boss's office?" he retorted, never breaking the contact with her reflection in the mirror. (Yes, keep up with the clichés, House; you're doing a great job. I want to do more consultations of course! It has nothing to do with the fact that my fucking leg hurts like hell!)

"Never mind, what do you want?" She said, heading back to her desk.

"Wilson is on sick leave. I need my prescription and since you're the only other doctor who can prescribe me the Holy Communion… oh I'm sorry, you're Jewish, you don't know what that means. It's probably better known as vicodin from your religious perspective."

Cuddy grabbed her prescription pad. Don't cry in front of him, she thought. "What do you think of the case I asked Chase to give you?" She asked as she started writing.

"Yes, he's dead. Moving on-"

"Oh my God, have you even tried to-"

"No need. Puzzle's solved. Cerebral Malaria, 'been in incubation for years. The parasites only attacked his red blood cells a couple of months ago. His drug abuse made him think his hallucinations and the fever were only drug related. "

"I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not. It's better to know you're going to die rather than having to live with a parasite eating you up from within." (She deserves it.)

"Are you comparing memories of us to parasites?" (Stop it, House, please.)

"Were you checking out your ego in that mirror? I'm only asking because I think I have more than just memories of you, you know? In fact, the only memory of you I have is how to make you come." (And trust me, I don't even take much pleasure in doing so.)

"There take your prescription and get the hell out of my office." (I did it for you, I've done the impossible for you.)

He took the prescription from her hand in a sharp movement and went for the door. Tell her, you idiot. Just tell her. If you can't hope, at least give her some of what's left of you. Whether he would have said something or not remains unanswered for it could not be witnessed.

"When you're with me, you're without me… When I'm without you, I'm with you." Cuddy spoke up, sobbing lightly.

"Isn't the "with" enough?" (I realize this is truly what I have left.)

"It's not enough, House." (My God, what have I done?)

"Then move on, Cuddy." He paused, never looking back, "Because that's all you're ever going to get." (You knew I could be stronger than that. You gave up, Cuddy.)

"I know you still love me." She said. (And yet, I can't feel it.)

House turned around and limped towards her.

"Have I ever said I didn't anymore?"

"Of course not…"

"My bad then. I don't love you anymore, Cuddy. Is that what you want to hear, so you can move on and get a real chance at ever finding happiness?" (Sarcasm or struggle? And my leg fucking hurts.)

"You're not only hurting me with those night rounds you know that, but my child as well!"

"Who cried last night, huh? You or Rachel?"

"Like you care..."

"Don't use your kid as an excuse. You have the power to end this. One word from you and it'll be over."

"I'm tempting fate every night. I don't want to tempt it too far."

"You will eventually." (What am I doing?)

House averted his gaze from her and limped back the way he came from, sealing this conversation with the physical pain that had marked the end of their unadulterated love.

* * *

James Wilson was having a terrible time with a terrible patient. The latter could not phantom the idea that his oncologist was not listening to a word he was saying. Indeed, Wilson, along occasional nods, was staring at his new classic movie poster featuring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.

"Do you understand where I'm coming from, doctor?" The patient, Mr. Jenkins, asked completely unaware of Wilson's sudden discomposure at hearing a question instead of killer ramblings.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins, I got carried away for a minute." He coughed and then, trying to re-establish what was left of his dignity or, as House puts it, his caring and socially perfect nature, added, "What is it that you need from me?"

"I need you to make sure my cancer isn't coming back!"

"Right, sir, I can assure you that the leukemia is not coming back for the time being. Your blood test came back positively negative." He quipped –not that the patient would have noticed that. James Wilson is after all not a jerk.

"All right. I'll be back in six months, Doctor Wilson. And if I see signs of my cancer coming back while I'm in Thailand – "Mr. Jenkins was cut off by a man storming into Wilson's office.

"And how could you possibly determine that mister?" House inquired –clearly unwilling to give the man a break, "With symptoms?" House shook his head, "As you're probably going to Thailand to sleep with under-aged Cambodian meat, you'll have auto-immune symptoms from an incurable disease this time."

"What do you mean?" The man asked, clearly frightened by the tall man with a cane.

"He means AIDS." Wilson said, unbiased.

"Which is a new acronym for Alien Immune Digital Scrotum; I got it from watching way too much porn on the internet!" House said, trying to look uncomfortable.

"Are you fucking sick?" The patient yelled as he rose from his chair.

"Didn't I just state that I am?" House continued, sarcastically.

Wilson cringed externally "House, shut up!"

"Hey, I'm helping you out here, buddy!" House pouted.

Mr. Jenkins stared at Wilson with pleading eyes. It was obvious the man wanted his oncologist to kick the other man out. Wilson had no desire to remain with the lesser of two evils in this room however, "Mr. Jenkins, I'm sorry but this consultation has to end. As I've told you, there is no need to worry. You are in perfect shape. Enjoy your trip to Thailand and I will see you again in six months."

"Good luck with the Cambodians!" House quipped again as Wilson was showing Mr. Jenkins out, albeit with good manners.

"They're called Thais!" The man corrected House.

"My bad, I thought you were really stupid."

"Bye, Mr. Jenkins." Wilson said closing the door before the older man could add anything else.

"He's nice for a pedophile!" House said heading to sprawl on Wilson's couch.

"Whatever." Wilson said, getting back to his chair.

"I see…" House pondered. (You really don't want to have anything to do with me anymore.)

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Okay."

"Want to go grab some grub?" House asked.

"And prevent you from destroying your life another night?"

"Why would you say that?"

"I actually came to your house last night with a home-cooked meal. I wanted to be someone I'm not anymore for God knows what reason." Wilson sighed, scratching the hair on the back of his neck, "You never answered the door so I figured you either had ODed or had gone out to catch that marvelous Alien disease you were speaking of."

"Well, at least you don't really want me dead." House smirked, "That must count for something."

"A moment of weakness."

"I was at Cuddy's."

"Really?" Wilson asked, "Doing what?"

"Fucking her."

"Very poetic."

"You asked and I elaborated. I could have said just as un-poetically: "Doing her".

"Even better." Wilson rolled his eyes seeming exasperated.

(I know you want to know what I'm doing. Ask me Wilson. Maybe that could give us back some semblance of friendship. I lost her but I never meant to lose you.) House licked his lips in anxiety, waiting for his friend to say something. Hearing Wilson's conscience was more than a necessity. It was a matter of music to his ear: a requiem.

"Don't you think she has suffered enough?"

"Do you think I want her to suffer?"

"Yes."

"Wrong. I want her to put a stop to this. She just won't."

"Because you're acting like a cage! You don't want her to get away from you."

"I want her to take actions. I want her to stop being that passive ghost of what she used to be. I need her to tell me off!"

"Maybe that's it. But I think you want her to fire you. And by that I don't mean simply from your job but from her life as well."

"Congratulations Dr. Wilson! You've just answered all my existential questions!" House said getting up from the sofa with difficulty.

"Your leg hurts like hell. You need to address this."

"Thank you doctor for your fake compassion."

"That's not compassion. I think you deserve all that pain that's affecting you for what you did to the woman you love and to your best friend."

"A couple of years ago, you would always stand by my side no matter how much of a jerk I could be to you." House let out in front of the door as he rested his hand on the doorknob.

"Do you remember that Christmas we spent at Lisa's place with everyone? We were listening to that old Scott McKenzie vinyl of yours…"

House had a momentary flashback whose images brought tears at the edge of his eyelids.

"San Francisco was playing and you and Cuddy were dancing. I suppose you guys were sweet talking to each other.

"We weren't." Wilson could hear the lie in his ex-friend's tone. He didn't have to see the look on his face to get it.

Besides, he knew the truth, "Yes you were. In a very House and Cuddy way of course. After the song ended, she asked me for help her in the kitchen. And I couldn't help seeing the happy look on her face. I asked her about it." Wilson paused, regretting mentioning this already. "She said you had proposed to her without actually proposing. I don't remember what her exact words were-"

"Be sure to wear flowers in your hair when I take you to San Francisco during our honey moon." House said.

"It makes your stomach heave, doesn't it?" Wilson suggested.

"It makes me think I could have chosen a more distant romantic destination." House added, his hand clearly trying to squeeze the life out of that doorknob.

"Well, she was in heaven. And she never wanted it to stop."

"She went against my will!" House turned around, hurt coming from his tone and blood shot eyes.

Wilson rose from his chair, "You would have been in pain for the rest of your life. A pain that has nothing to do with the one you're inflicting yourself physically and emotionally!"

"What do you mean physically?" House frowned.

"I've seen you…" Wilson sighed, shaking his head.

"Seen me what?" House asked in anger.

"I've seen you hit your leg a couple of times."

"You've been following me?" House figured it passed as a statement.

"Yes I have! Don't you think that I feel the slightest bit guilty for kicking you there in the first place?"

"Whatever. If you really feel that bad about it, do something for me." House said opening the door ferociously, "Don't ever tell Cuddy-"

"And have her pity you even more? I certainly won't." Wilson cut him off.

House acknowledged that with a nod and closed the door behind him. Wilson fell back onto his chair, exhausted by the encounter and yet picturing happy times in a 70s version of San Francisco which never came. That could never come. Time's fleeting, forever fleeting.

* * *

Have you ever been to San Francisco? I did once, during a song. Little did I know that, a few weeks later, my significant other was never going to take me to this non-foreign city. I don't know why I decided to put that song on tonight. And on repeat… Hopefully it won't wake Rachel up. As I started to undress, I realized that I just couldn't listen to that song. I would bawl my eyes out within a minute. So I came to a halt and pressed pause. In spite of hearing the music whose melody could tear my heart apart, I heard the sound of my heavy breathing. I couldn't stand it. My own breathing, I mean. As I turned the light switch off, completely shrugging off the idea of getting into my ugliest nightgown, I heard footsteps that were definitely not Rachel's. I stopped breathing entirely as the person whose gait I knew opened my bedroom door. From where I stood, the light coming from the doorway gave me a _Chiaroscuro_ view of his figure. Well, technically, a reversed one for the light exposed the contours of him. His face forever in the dark, I suppose. Then, he closed the door and moved about my room, took off his jacket and loosened his shirt. I was about to sit on the bed, waiting for him to start his routine when for the first time, he said something.

"Turn the light switch on." His voice was hoarse, like he had been shouting for the past two hours.

"I don't want to." She said, really not feeling this new configuration.

"Please." He said.

Of course, I didn't see this one coming. That he would throw me onto that bed and screw me without saying a word, I could see coming. Surprisingly, I wanted him to do that instead of going all mysterious on me. My heart could take his body pressed against mine but my heart couldn't take bits of before it all crashed down.

Nevertheless, I did as I was told. I blinked my eyes a couple of times to adjust my sight to the light again but couldn't bring myself to look at him. I could feel a motion though. He came to a halt where my iPod and speakers were. He had to press play, Cuddy eventually processed the information.

"Look at me." He said and she could feel him heading her way.

I tilted my head back slowly and pleaded him to stop the song with my eyes.

"Why are you doing this to me?" She asked.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore." He said and she almost believed him.

"No, this can't go in our favor, in my favor! This means you are going to hurt me completely." She said watching that look she couldn't stand.

He put his hands on each side of my waist. I tried to get away from him but his hold on me was strong.

"I want to dance with you. " He breathed in her neck. His nostrils releasing that hurtful warmth she wanted to feel for the rest of her life.

"Don't do this." She said, resting her head on his chest.

"Fire me, Cuddy." He pleaded, kissing her neck.

"I… can't."

"Do you love me?" He asked as his eyes started searching hers.

"Yes." She paused, catching his stubble first, followed by his lips, nose and then his eyes. "But that doesn't give me cause to fire you."

"Do you want me then?" He asked.

"Not like this." She countered.

"This, right now, is exactly as you want me." He said, "Just say the word."

"Never." She held his gaze.

And then he lifted me up and threw me onto the bed. He positioned himself on top of me. My heavy breathing was back on; at least this routine was something I was accustomed to. Scary but it felt natural. As his head descended even as his lips came closer to mine, I thought he would keep his eyes open and kiss me with force. Needless to say that the usual never came as he moved his lips against mine in a sweet caress, rubbing stubbly parts around his thin lips ever so lightly as if he were asking permission to kiss me.

Surprising herself, she asked, "Why don't you quit?"

"I'm not strong enough to leave you." He paused and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Then don't." She said searching his eyes, "Maybe things are going to get better."

"I'm hurting. And I'm hurting you in the process."

"Not tonight, you're not. You're with me." She uttered and he proceeded to push back an unruly lock of her hair.

"Because I need you to let me go."

"That's a nice way to put it. You're asking me not only to jeopardize the hospital's reputation, you're putting the lives of dozens of undiagnosed patients at risk and…" She paused, not really knowing on what note she should end this assessment.

"I really didn't think you would think about these reasons." He smiled at me and I laughed.

"See that?" She pushed him off her and to the other side of the bed. She got herself off the bed and said smiling despite herself, "You just made laugh! You haven't made me laugh in months, House!"

House had no intention of giving this situation a happy ending. Only a sad ending could get her life one last shot at happiness. "But I'm _insanely_ angry at you." He suddenly gave her a furious look.

"Because I chose you and the risk of losing you over having to watch you everyday suffer for the rest of our life together? I did what I had to do!" She said, clearly beyond being offended.

"You could have believed in me!" He added.

"I did, I still do, House!" She paused staring at him. She chose to come closer to him and went back to sit on her bed. "But it hurt me so much to watch you in such pain. I was weak, I didn't know what to do, I thought you would leave me anyway if I didn't act on it."

"I never would have left you." He felt sorry for her. She could tell. Her point of view became true the minute he brought his hand back to her cheek to caress it.

"I will never fire you and you will never quit." She said, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

I could hear him sigh and feel him tilt his head slightly, probably processing my words. They would either make me doubt myself or lead him to question his desires.

"I don't want you to leave me. Not tonight. Not ever." She said in between the kisses she pressed against his neck.

I felt him nod, I think and he took no time to find my mouth this time.

I felt light-headed, I wanted to. She kissed me back, I wanted that too.

He took my top off and eventually helped me out of my pencil skirt.

In no hurry and yet speeding things up, I pulled my zipper down.

"I want you naked." She asked.

"No time. I need you." He added, pulling her panties further and further away from her sex

How is this going to be any different? Cuddy thought, stroking his penis.

I just need to give myself away, one last time, he thought. And then she had to say it.

"Make love to me." She panted against my mouth.

I watched her, not able to say anything. Cuddy didn't give him a pleading look neither did she give him a piteous one. She was never going to ask or command him. Just like he would never answer or obey her. She was perfection to his eyes.

I spread her legs apart to bring her closer to me. He kissed her jaw line, moved to her collarbone and sucked every inches of her skin he came across. She was used to his stubble rubbing against her breasts. They were never left completely unharmed but she never complained for the feeling was ecstatic: a mixture of irritation and salvation.

She felt him search for her entrance, switching his posture on top of her to a full-on missionary one. He entered her fast, her walls not even close to caving in. Cuddy's eyes shot open when she felt his hand rest on her cheek and his thumb roaming about her mouth. Thrusting out of her slowly, he slid back in with the force she knew he knew would eventually help bring her closer to the edge.

He brought his mouth to hers again, thinking this would be the last time he would get a chance to kiss her and love her plainly. One of her sweaty hand clung to his shirt and back when she suddenly brought her other palm to his jaw line. Her thumb came across his right eye and she panicked when the puzzle before her reached a state of completeness. He was crying. She didn't want this to end and yet she would have no real control this time either, she realized.

His thrusts had intensified up to a point where there was no turning back. His leg was hurting him more than usual. Of course, House thought. Not about to become the guy who screams in pain while making love to one practically-ready-for-the-final-showdown Lisa Cuddy, House chose to focus on her only. He could hear her moan his name, feel her ragged breath against the crook of his neck –the place she had settled.

Cuddy was not about to even her breath any time soon as she clung to him as if something more than her own orgasm depended on it.

House brought her to climax after a couple more irregular thrusts. The last thrusts were for him and Cuddy – still moaning his name, the word love and God incoherently – solidified her embrace, her arms securing what was left of their love making and comfort zone.

Trying to catch their breath, they remained stuck to and with each other less than a minute before House moved off her and lay down on the other side of her bed.

"Thank you." Cuddy said before switching her bedside lamp off. She heard the plop of his vicodin bottle and as she spooned up against him, sensed him relax.

"You're welcome." He said, hugging her back.

When she woke up the next morning, Cuddy was mesmerized by the good feeling she was experiencing. She hadn't slept like that in months. She moved on her bed, trying to find the source of warmth she knew was House.

Cuddy opened her eyes and found Rachel holding a letter instead.

* * *

Author's note: If you like, please review! By the way, I'm trying a "streaming of consciousness" kinda story. So all wrongfully used syntax or literary devices are on me. I'm doing it my way, purposefully. I'm trying new things.


	2. Disorder

Author's note: As promised, here's chapter 2! Thanks so much for the reviews, please keep reviewing cause this is what allows me to write more. I'm sorry for taking so much to upload though, I had my finals this week. But now I've got more time to work on this story. For those who've asked, yes, this story will have a happy ending but there's going to be quite a lot of downs before the ups prevail. I don't know if this story will be long, I'll just go with the flow and eventually the reviews will dictate my conduct. xD

* * *

Chapter 2: Disorder

An insanely depressive guitar riff was playing repeatedly loud. It coexisted with a frantic bass rhythm, drums and percussions working to a decayed heartbeat. The voice of a dead singer echoed in a cheap motel room somewhere outside Trenton: the voice of a man that suffered from depression, epilepsy and who eventually committed suicide partly because he wanted his wife back.

_I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand._

House kept looking at his glass of Bourbon. The bottle was already half-empty.

_Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man._

He lit a cigarette and processed what he would do next.

_These sensations barely interest me for another day._

Or not. He lay back on the bed, consuming his cigarette faster than it was consuming him.

_I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, take the shock away._

Where to go from now? Nowhere, somewhere and everywhere seemed to fit. Alcohol would help fuel this pretext though. And he kept drinking until it hurt no more.

* * *

The letter. Right. Yes. A letter? I know what's inside. I just don't want to actually read it. He has given me everything I wanted one last time. He tricked me again though. So help me God that I don't read anything into it. The best two years of my life ruined because of… one letter. No, those days were over before last night.

"Mommy?"

"Yes Honey?"

"Is Daddy House coming back tonight?" The little girl asked from the doorway to Cuddy's bedroom.

What do you tell a child that you don't know what to say anymore? That all day at work, you kept staring at an envelope that hides words that change your life forever? That you weren't able to tell your ex's ex best friend how worse things were in fact – not that he might not be aware of that fact already. His team asked me to call him so many times in one day that I might actually fire them just so I can find some tranquility. Isn't trying to save patients without a genius at your side a better challenge?

"Mommy?"

"Hm?" Rachel had gotten her mother out of her thoughts, "Sorry Baby. I don't know. Now go back to bed. I'll come read you a story and tuck you in in a minute, okay?"

A very much disappointed Rachel nodded although Cuddy could see she hid it extremely well. She had taken more and more after House in those last two years. She didn't know if she would ever get used to facing that look now that it was imprinted on her daughter's face.

Cuddy ripped the envelope open and snatched the letter out as if it had been hands.

_I forgive you_, she read, _I'm sorry you couldn't come up with another way to deal with my problem…our problem. But there was no other way and I know you did it for me, because I'm stubborn. I asked you to fire me because I'm stubborn. I realize I've been in the wrong for quite some time now. This is why you may consider this letter as me handing you my resignation. You gave up your stubbornness the minute you asked me to get back on drugs. There was no right or wrong decision in this matter. You did what you had to do. I'm sorry this couldn't save our relationship. I'm sorry for ruining our relationship. _

_Trust me when I say I love you. Trust me when I say I hate you just as much. No hard feelings. I'm sure that's the same for you. _

_Ps. I wanted to steal Toothless Creature but I don't hate your spawn. _

Cuddy broke down in tears. She didn't want to cry because he was supposedly being harsh with his words. She needed to cry because this was them. So completely them, and they had lost 'them'.

After five minutes of intense crying, she brought her head back in the game of parenthood and pushed her existential issues as far away from her self-esteem as possible. She came into her daughter's bedroom and saw that she was already asleep.

Well, no story for you tonight. I surely could have used one, she thought.

Cuddy brought her face close to her daughter's and lightly kissed her cheek so as not to wake her. She spotted the precious teddy bear next to her daughter's sleeping face stuck under one of her small arms. Stealing is bad. Every non convicted adult felon will tell you that. But tonight, Cuddy had every intention of being that kind of felon. Toothless Creature belonged. It belonged to a universe that doesn't exist anymore. It belongs to her daughter. Except for tonight.

Tonight, you're mine, she thought as she stole the last evidence that proves the sole man she has ever loved did love her daughter.

* * *

House had trouble breathing. He didn't have to self-diagnose. He knew where this new life style would lead him to. And by lifestyle he meant saying a big "fuck you life" _Leaving Las Vegas_ style, in a cheap motel near Trenton, NJ without the hooker. How screwed up is that? He had brought a bag full of Vicodin. All his secret stashes were gone. There was no reason to go back to his old house, his old job.

He wouldn't be able to get more prescriptions. He would ruin himself materially and physically.

I'm ruined emotionally anyway. I have always been, he thought emptying his second Bourbon bottle.

He wanted to hear the sound of her voice. Needless to say he fell asleep thinking he was hearing her voice. At this rate, within a couple of days, his hallucinations could be back. He would be grateful for those.

I'll be this impotent bastard who fucks the queen of all bosses, he last thought as she appeared in the deepest dream he would have in a long time.

* * *

Five months ago, I hit my best friend in his damaged leg. He deserved it. He wanted me to prescribe him Vicodin. Of all evils in this world, it had to be this one. I remember the insane knock on my door, the shouting. I didn't want to open the door because I knew this would get out of hand. His anger issues had become frequent ever since he had started taking his treatment. Cuddy was having a hard time trying to manage his pain problem. Try to picture what was at stake here. Her integrity, my delusions and his loss of control became apparent. He and Cuddy had come up with some new living arrangements only a couple of months prior to this incident. His leg started to hurt him when he realized that everything was good. Ironic, isn't it? He was happy. And this is when you start shouting at God and asking why happiness can't last. I remember that I didn't open the door and told him to go back to Cuddy. He said she couldn't understand. I said that she could. He started to hit the door more violently. He was going to beat the crap out of that door if I didn't let him in, so I did. Give me a prescription, he asked. He was sweating from every pore, his bloodshot eyes almost got to me. But I told him that the Methadone was supposed to make him crave for something stronger. And then he said it, something along the lines of: I killed that kid today because I wasn't feeling like me. I should have known a heart attack was coming with all the treatments we had been given him for the past 72 hours. Of course I could have chosen appropriate words rather than "You don't get to be the best all the time House, you're only human." And he thought I had meant that his error didn't come from the medicine he was taking for his leg pain but from the fact that he was not always going to be up to his game. I should have realized his happiness made him want to be Superman. He was flying after all; flying pretty high, having the perfect family and job. With that he punched me in the face and said I was never his friend. It was the dementia talking. Yet, I thought he could hurt me pretty bad if I didn't stop him. You are responsible for the fact that I could have died, like with Amber. I did the impossible for you and could have ended up in a coma or vegetable for the rest of my life, he had said. I didn't think. I don't know why I did it. But the only place where I wanted to hurt him was his most sensible one. His leg became my target. I hit him there so hard he fell on the floor in pain. I remember dragging him out of my apartment and told him to go back to Cuddy's before I closed the door on him.

He went back on the Vicodin anyway. He deserved it all because he had mentioned her name and a mistake in one sentence and yet I feel responsible. He was hurting and of the two, I've been the less human; or the most human, depending on your definition of human nature. It was only a punch in the face.

He went back on the Vicodin anyway, I keep repeating that to myself. So, there, I'm thinking about calling him. Shit.

Wilson took his cellphone and speed-dialed House's number.

_We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service _

Wilson tried his friend's place but there was no answer. A shot of panic ran through him and he decided to call Cuddy. He knew he wouldn't feel sorry for calling his boss at 2 AM.

"Hello?" He heard the sobbing voice of Lisa Cuddy.

"Lisa, I'm worried." He never called her Lisa unless something bad was up.

"James-"She tried but he cut her off.

"I tried to call his cell but the number is not in service. I tried his home and so I was hoping he was…at yours." He almost slipped and said "home". Her place was no longer his home after all.

"He quit today. He's not here. I have no idea where he is." She barely managed to say.

Wilson tried to think of something to say that could make it all better, "I… wanted to apologize to him."

"For what? You've done nothing wrong, James." She said.

"You're going to hate me." He said

"I can never hate you as much as I hate him right now." She admitted.

"I should have been the one responsible for all this. I left that to you. He would have stayed with you if I had been the kind of friend he needed that night and had actually done a pretty bad job at being a friend."

"James, I don't understand-"

"He made me swear I would never tell you." But he figured he had to tell her. He needed to clear his conscious.

"What the hell is going on, Wilson?" She wanted at him for being so enigmatic now.

"Do you remember that night when you first gave him the Vicodin?"

That was a stupid question! How could she forget?

She remembered that night as if it were yesterday. House had come home. She had heard him limp about the living room. She was waiting for him in their bedroom. She knew he had had a pretty long day and his patient had died. The day couldn't have been more awful, she had figured it would be just as bad. She had no idea. He was taking quite a long time to come to join her in the bedroom, too long. At some point, she heard glass break and a harsh thump. She immediately figured House had fallen and jumped out of bed. She had rushed out of her room and had headed to the living room and had seen shattered glass on the floor next to him. House, she had screamed, seeing him in pain trying to raise his tall frame up. Oh my God, are you all right? She had asked as she had tried to help him up and lead him to the couch. He was in pain, she didn't know what to do, she thought about calling an ambulance but he saw she was trying to think of something and stopped her from doing anything unwillingly the moment he had grabbed his leg with a force she had rarely seen. It hurts too much, Cuddy, he had sobbed; I need to manage this pain. The treatment isn't good enough, I'm sorry. Cuddy only saw pleading eyes when she saw the blue of his. She knew his pain would be getting worse. He was getting older and the chunk of muscle missing would hurt more with every year. It was inevitable. When she saw him in so much pain, she had no intention of thinking like a doctor. She just wanted him not to hurt. She only remembers his eyes, I'll be right back she had said kissing the top of his head, and how they made her write a prescription and run out of the house to go to the nearest store. She had run like she had never run before, doing the impossible and yet not seeing any reason not to. She came back to tend to him with an ice pack for his leg, a glass of water

… and a couple of Vicodins.

"Wilson, please just-"She had just revisited that moment for an instant and had no intention of crying even more. But he cut her off again anyway.

"He was hurting that much because of me." He admitted, "He had come to my house that night and I hit him in his bad leg. And I hit him pretty hard. I…. I'm so sorry, Lisa."

After a few seconds he heard a muffled cry "Oh My God."

He waited for a reply that never came and added, "Please, say something."

"Goodnight Wilson."

"Lisa, please, try to hear me out-"He managed to add before she hung up.

* * *

House was riding a bicycle along with his daughter and his woman. It was a hot summer day and the abundant grass surrounding them smelled nice. He was telling his significant other lousy, sarcastic or filled with sexual innuendos jokes and between that scornful look and smile of hers, he didn't know where his most happy place was. He could hear Rachel say "Be careful daddy" and eventually witness the imminent collision with a car approaching at a crossroads. He heard Cuddy scream his name before he woke up drenched in his sweat and threw up on himself.

An hour later, he managed to clean himself up a bit and threw his shirt in the bin. He wanted to dial her home number thinking he only needed to hear her voice, that it wasn't that bad to need something like that. And so he dialed her number, only to end up on their unchanged answering machine, "You've reached Cuddy and House –" sobbing slightly at hearing the sound of their voices and his up-coming interjection, "at OUR HOUSE because that's so funny." Followed by Cuddy's "Shut up!" and Rachel's "And me's House!" with Cuddy clarifying, "And Rachel. Please leave a message."

And he hung up; he just wanted to hear her voice, that's all.

* * *

Cuddy wanted nothing to do with Wilson. She fell asleep a couple of minutes after his last call. She would rather confront House than Wilson. And yet she wanted nothing to do with either of them. She fell asleep thinking of House, remembering the grateful look on his face the moment the Vicodin had started to kick in. She remembered how well he had slept in her arms on the couch. This was the happiest he could ever be.

* * *

Please review if you like!


	3. Come Rain or Come Shine

Author's note: I NEED YOUR REVIEW-LY LOVE. Hope you like that chapter. Song you can listen to at the same time: Come rain or come shine by Don Henley.

* * *

Chapter 3: Come Rain Or Come Shine.

A week later, Cuddy had reassigned all of House's fellows and Foreman to other departments. Wilson had tried to engage her into some small talk about the hospital but she would refuse to address the real issue at hand. She knew she was responsible but she needed to put the blame on someone else. That probably was her only way to cope with House's disappearance. Not that she had been trying to look for him. He wanted to leave; there is no need to file a missing person complaint, she thought working on the last paperwork in her outbox.

She wanted to leave too. She couldn't take the board's accusations anymore. She knew for a fact that she hadn't led House astray. Her personal life wasn't the hospital's business, and yet it was because he was the best diagnostician in the country. His obnoxious manners were worth millions of dollars. He had always been the biggest asset to this hospital and she couldn't keep up during board meetings anymore.

Last Monday, Dr. Jerry Coleman, the old cardiologist defended her, saying Dr. Cuddy would still be able to get her hands on more donations. She had done it before without House, she could still do it. In a way though, when she hired House some twelve years ago, she used him to secure her position. That was a big risk but one extremely worth taking. She had the "assets" to keep him in line; she had smirked at that thought during the board meeting, really not paying attention to anything. She was a proud woman. Proud for standing up to that jerk for so many years. She was among the best hospital administrators in the country. Dr. Lisa Cuddy was stubborn, proud and yet she couldn't feel more unhappy.

She wanted to go home to her daughter and try to gain back some of that unconditional love House had debated over so many times, having lost true love: the non-built kind.

* * *

Earlier that evening, House was crawling about the floor, trying to find his Vicodin. He got his hands on the last couple of pills; his drunken, hazy and unsure movements had made him drop them on the floor.

He managed to swallow them dry and brought his nearby glass of scotch to his lips. He gulped the non-degree-free beverage and remained sprawled out on the wooden floor of his messy motel room. He had wanted to move to another place but he was finding it intensely harder with every single day. One week and he was still a mess. Besides the fact that he was completely wasted for most part of the days, he was finding the prospects of surviving on booze rather than Vicodin more and more appealing. It numbed his leg pain to a level where his emotional pain couldn't have an effect on it anymore.

He dozed off for a couple of hours by his bed before he woke up with one idea in mind. He needed to hear her voice again. He fumbled to find the landline phone of his room that was on the bedside table. He moved the phone on his chest and dialed her cell number. It rang a couple of times before she answered,

"Heello" He heard her say all sleepy.

He said nothing but he was breathing hard, maybe she would notice, maybe not. He didn't care. All he needed was to hear her voice.

"Hello? Who's this?" She asked, suddenly more aware that this phone call sounded creepy, especially at 2 in the morning.

He was stating to breathe even more, life reaching his very heartbeat and soul and taking it all away from him at the same time. He was breaking.

"Who…" She tried again before she realized she should just hang up. This was a man's breathing, she could sense it. For God only knows what reason, she wanted to know, "Is that… is that you?"

His breathing got faster and faster by the second, he hoped she had truly recognized him in a way because otherwise that would mean she had already found someone else and he wasn't prepared for that even though he chose to leave her. To let her be happy.

And then his chest started to hurt, his digestive tube and lungs to be more precise, he could be having a stroke or a simple case of panic attack, he didn't know. He hung up before he could hear her call his name.

"House…" His name floated on her lips but never reached the caller.

* * *

Cuddy looked at her phone and noticed the number wasn't blocked. The area code suggested he was still in New Jersey. For half an hour, her mind fought over the pros and cons as whether or not to call him back. If it were him, she figured.

It could be him or maybe that's just my imagination. Do I want to call back and… whatever confirmation I could get or whatever satisfaction I would obtain doesn't seem right, does it?

Cuddy kept pondering over that until she had this urge to make sure rather than having made up her mind. She called the number back not really expecting him to answer but she hoped he would, whoever he was.

* * *

House was still lying on the floor, he felt like he couldn't move as if his entire body was on the verge of breaking. For a long period of time he remained still, trying to keep his eyes open. Eyes like bubble out of an orifice, he could picture the bloodshot aspect they had. He was in trouble and he knew he needed help. If only he didn't feel so useless or incapable of moving. He had no idea which of the two was the actual symptom. He heard the landline ring again but had no desire to answer. He wanted to be left alone, remain the miserable bastard he had always been. He let the phone ring until the ringtone died out. He was hurting and yet feeling transcendental. He was above everything this earth could bring. He was high and ODing at the same time. Except it didn't feel like a true overdose, it felt like a knife had stabbed him in the trachea. His lungs felt constricted and heavy. He couldn't feel the rest of his body. He was breathing from the mouth but fluids were coming out of it. His body was trying to save him by rejecting everything his liver had taken in for the past week. The accumulation made him realize that this was only the beginning. He wanted to die, he really did but he wanted to destroy himself slowly and if nobody helped him at this very moment, he would die literally, in his shit.

The next time he heard the phone ring, he managed to reach it with his right hand and only had time to say, "Help me, Cuddy." before he passed out.

* * *

Cuddy panicked, she did a research on the Internet with the area code, trying to figure out where this number came from. Would it even be possible to find where he was? She had to go. She feared something really bad was happening… had happened… the tone in his voice articulated her moves for her instead of her own thoughts. Thanks to the Yellow Pages and a couple more research she found telephone numbers of motels outside the Trenton area where he could be. She called all numbers and asked if a man named Gregory House had checked in, she described him as having a limp and using a cane. Three motels, nothing, four, five, six, still nothing, however by the seventh call she made, a woman with a slutty accent told him there was a man named House which she thought was funny fitting that description. She made sure she had the right address but before she hung up, she tried to urge the woman to go to his room and force it open. Do whatever it takes to make sure House was all right. She said she was busy and that it wasn't her business what husbands were doing on their own private time when they weren't at home. Cuddy would be getting nowhere with that woman. She dressed up, took –or practically grabbed, a sleepy Rachel and went to her car. She fastened her daughter's seatbelt with such dexterity she didn't even notice she hadn't woken her little girl up. She made sure her medical kit was in the trunk and got into the car. She drove off into the pouring rain to a fucked up man, either playing a sadistic trick on her or experiencing having one's life hanging in the balance. She hoped it wasn't and yet extremely feared it was the second option.

* * *

'I'm gonna love you' like no one's loved you' was playing in House's head. For whatever fucked up reason, he had this song in his head. He felt it was strange to only be able to feel that. It was insane but it felt nice… quite soothing in fact.

'Like no one's loved you, come rain or come shine', he wondered if he were dead for a minute. But his eyes were open, 'it was just one of those days' and all he could see was what he didn't have: the strength to accept life as what it is or maybe he was accepting it. You're born, you live and thank God you die. 'I'm with you always' was what mattered that very moment. He was with himself, accepting fate, not hoping anymore. He wasn't hurting. The Angel of Death was a peaceful song reaching his very being. 'Eyes…' he didn't know anymore, 'Deep as a river' and all he could see were her eyes. She was crying and he wanted to tell her he was happy, that she could let him go and that she could be happy too. They were 'happy together, unhappy together' and that it was fine because he was drowning in a hurtful ecstasy. It was beautiful. He was glad this was all a figment of his imagination. What was left of his sanity told him he was glad she had responded to his cry for help. It was perfect. She deserved to be in a world without his destructive nature. Because he was destruction and it was beautiful. So were her eyes! As he felt his heartbeat getting slower like the rhythm of the song playing in his head, he couldn't be happier to have her as his last image and no look of contempt upon the outside world.

The final crushing blow came as a shot of adrenaline. He hadn't expected death to be so hurtful.

* * *

Cuddy spotted the motel entrance and rushed to the nearest door with Rachel in her arms. She saw the woman she had figured was slutty which of course she were, making out with –most likely – a fellow junky.

"Hey, I'm Lisa Cuddy, I called you about half an hour ago about Gregory House. Can you give me his room number."

"Oh right, yeah" Thankfully, Cuddy thought, the woman took too much time to stop kissing her 'boyfriend', 'He's in room 201. But he probably won't open that door, lady!"

"What do you mean?" Cuddy frowned.

"Well, he's been seeing this delivery girl the entire week. She would bring him drinks and food and other things, I figure he's… you know, kinda cheating on you. If I were you, I'd leave him." The woman said.

"Listen Miss," Cuddy got mad, she knew she didn't have time for this, "you are going with me and you are going to open that door because if you don't, I'm going to call the cops and testify that you were doing drugs on a work night with Mr. Junky here and wouldn't give me a room for me and my daughter. I'm a doctor, trust me, I know I'm right."

The junky looked dumbfounded for a sec but eventually took this as a sign that the woman who had brought her kid with her at 3 in the morning couldn't be more serious with her threats. And that she was completely nuts. "Okay, fine, Lady! Jeez, I'll come with ya. But please, if you have a gun, kill the hooker doing your 'ex' husband", she gestured the under reversed comas 'ex' with her fingers, "not me!"

Cuddy simply rolled her eyes and followed the woman to the door leading to the porch. As they reached Room 201, Cuddy told the owner to hurry up.

"I'm going as fast as I can, I have so many keys! I haven't had the time to rearrange the numbers, you see, we've changed the numbers a couple of –"

"Do I look like I care? Please, just hurry up, okay?" Cuddy asked, twistedly scared now and therefore less threatening to the other woman.

"You really think there's something wrong in there?" The woman asked before she found the key she was looking for, "Ha, got it!"

"Oh thank God." Cuddy was barely audible, "I just hope he's alright, he could be doing his mother right now I wouldn't care as long as he's alright."

"You are one freaky lady." The woman who had arched a brow said before she opened the door and shouted, "OH FUCK, SHIT!"

Cuddy had peaked in and had rushed inside, put her daughter on the bed the moment she saw House sprawled out still on the floor.

"Oh God, House." She had screamed as she saw his eyes were still open.

"FUCK, SHIT, I CAN'T HAVE A DEAD GUY IN MY MOTEL. PLEASE TELL ME HE AIN'T DEAD." The woman kept yelling while Cuddy was checking his pupils, panic-stricken. Her entire body was fueling with despair as she moved to his throat and checked his pulse. Full stop, dead-center, neutral as if she were thinking of an automatic transmission for a car. His heartbeat was at a complete standstill.

"JUST SHUT UP." Cuddy yelled back, half doubting herself and half thinking she had to do something. She threw her keys at the owner, "Here take my keys and bring me back the med kit in my trunk!".

The woman was shaking. Key in hands she said, "Okay, I'll be right back."

"House, do you hear me? I'm here." She hushed, trying not to scare her daughter who had remained silent for most part since she had woken up a couple of seconds ago. She proceeded to give him a cardiac massage. You who couldn't stop raving about the fact that was giving you CPR every night when we weren't together, well now, please, just wake up so you can do that again, Cuddy thought as she breathing the air he needed into his mouth, hoping his obstructed respiratory organs would accept it.

The more she had to wait for her med kit, the more he would risk brain damage if he ever woke up. She had to act as a professional but when Rachel started to ask, "Mommy, why doesn't Daddy wake up?" she felt her entire world was breaking up from within, from inside her body and soul. He was part of her world, Rachel's wouldn't be the same without him and she realized they had not had a proper goodbye, the three of them, together. This couldn't be it.

"Hey, is that what you needed?" The woman had come back showing the medical kit to Cuddy who nodded. She took it from her and searched for the big syringe which, at this point, would be any doctor's last hope. "Don't stand here, rip his shirt open!" Cuddy let out not even thinking about how crude her words could appear to someone unprepared like that young owner. She moved fast and took care of his shirt and held back a breath as she saw the middle aged doctor insert the big syringe into a little bottle.

"What's that?" The woman asked, still half yelling.

"Adrenaline." Cuddy stated, holding back more than a breath when she got all the liquid in the tube. She jumped a couple heartbeats when she used her hand to locate his heart. She looked him in the eyes one last time before she stabbed him in the heart.

She had lost count of the number of heartbeats she had missed when House arched himself and screamed.

* * *

WANT MORE?


	4. Cosmic Love

Author's note: Please, I need lots and lots of love if you want me to update this story. So really, don't hesitate to review, I love to wake up to those. xD

For those who've asked, I torture my characters but my world is one of happy endings, just sayin'.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4: Cosmic Love.

"Shhh, House, it's me Lisa. It's okay, you're okay." She hushed as she tried to steady him.

"What… what did… you do? Fuck, my chest… it hurts." He panted, shaking from the rush of adrenaline he could tell still made him feel very much alive.

"Just relax, try to control your breathing. You're going to be fine." She told him or rather herself in case she would need more convincing that this had in fact worked. He was safe.

House then looked at his chest and saw the giant syringe, "Did you fucking stab me in the heart?"

"She saved your life, you twat!" The other woman in the room said.

"You think? Well, she shouldn't have!" House bitterly replied, grabbing the syringe with his right hand.

"Don't do that, House!" Cuddy tried to stop him but he managed to take it out regardless, throwing it as far away from him as possible. He yelled from the pain.

"Can you call an ambulance?" Cuddy asked the motel owner. The woman nodded.

"No!" House said, "I'm fine. You two can leave me the hell alone now." He tried to prop himself up to make it to bed. Cuddy helped him rather confused he didn't push her away the moment she put her hands on his waist. Not that it would be that beneficial to a 180 pound man, a man twice her size.

House noticed Rachel was there, "What's she doin' here? Are you insane?"

"You called me for help House, I couldn't leave her alone." Cuddy said as she applied some alcohol on the absorbent cotton she had and tapped where she had stabbed him.

"You could have left her at Wilson's." He stated adamantly.

"Like I said, I didn't have time to think." She thought about telling him she had in fact taken the time to think about leaving her daughter at Wilson's. It turned out to be a big no.

"Are you okay, Daddy House?" The little girl asked as she tried to spoon closer to House.

"Yes." He said not looking at her, "And you there? I pay you for a room not to watch me do a peep show." He told the other woman.

"So, should I call 911?" She asked showing them her phone.

She heard a very masculine no and a very feminine yes at the same time. "Okay, well call me when you guys come to a decision, bye!" And she closed the door behind her.

"House, you need a full check up!" Cuddy 'administrated'.

"What do they say about doctors being doctors?"

"Fuck you, House." Cuddy stated, tired of his lack of honesty, as she closed the med-kit.

"They are DOCTORS. OH MY GOD. I'M NOT DYING ANYMORE THANKS TO YOU." House threw his hands up in the air.

"What does Dr. House say about throwing a tantrum?" Luckily for her, Rachel couldn't really get what they were talking about. Not that she was sure on what grounds she was playing with him that very moment. He had tried to kill himself.

House looked at her, his eyes wide open, rendered speechless for a moment. "Nothing." he mumbled dismissively, "Just get the hell out of here and never come back."

"Let's go, Rachel." Cuddy told her daughter as she headed to the front door, noticing all the alcohol bottles as well as his clothes spread everywhere on the floor.

"But I wanna stay with Daddy." Rachel whined.

"That man over there," She said, turning back to him, "He's not your dad."

"But –"Rachel was about to cry, Cuddy knew that. She wanted to cry too after all.

"Come on, Rachel." She said, opening the door.

Watching her go, like this, without even realizing it, he barely breathed in before he said "Don't go."

She stopped dead in her tracks and let out a sigh, "Why?"

"Because… I can't die alone." There were so many possible things to be understood from such a simple plea. She didn't know what was scarier. Leave him like this alone or witness him self-destruct and having to accept it for the sake of not leaving him alone.

"When was the last time you ate?" She asked.

"I don't remember." He said as he could feel his heart rate speeding up with every second. He would keep on needing her and he hated to look this fragile.

"Rachel, stay here with House. I'll be right back." And she left without another word.

House watched her go and tried to look for a bottle of Bourbon. "Can you bring me that bottle over there on the floor, Kid?" Rachel did as she was told and jumped back on the bed where House was. She watched him drink from the bottle a couple of times before he put it back on the bedside table. In his relatively better state, he looked at her with his dilated eyes. He noticed the air was probably too cool on the cold side in the room and instinctively lifted the sheets up for her. She accepted his invitation to get under the covers –without him – and yet with him as he invited her to get closer to him.

* * *

Cuddy had asked the owner if there was a 24/7 store in the vicinity and had told her to call the dogs off for the night. "You're going to stay the night?" Cuddy had nodded. She dismissed the idea of going to a drugstore. She was sure House didn't have any Vicodin left. She had no intention of prescribing some. She didn't have her prescription pad on her anyway. That was convenient.

She bought all the necessary supplies such as shower gel, shampoo, and spare toothbrushes. And aside from the fact that she had no idea why she was buying things for herself, she eventually bought such an amount of food that they could last an entire week on it.

When she came back to the room, she spotted Rachel sleeping next to House. She didn't know whether the tears she was desperately good at hiding were of joy or sadness. He was watching TV on mute and finishing his bottle. She wondered how many of those he had.

She had bought enough food to stock up the mini bar and without further ado, went straight to where it was. They said nothing to each other before she came over to him, took the remote control to turn the TV off and coldly said, "You stink. Go take a shower." She handed him the bag with the necessary products. "I'll make us sandwiches in the meantime." (I'll make you eat those whether you're hungry or not.)

He accepted the bag, searching her eyes, "Thank you." He said.

"I won't give you Vicodin." She felt it had to be said.

"I know." He acknowledged.

She took off her coat and sat down on the chair opposite the bed where the small table was. He tried to get off the bed but felt limbless. Although the pain in his chest was intolerable, he managed to stand up. He was weak physically and mentally. I need your help, he pleaded her in his head as he stared at the carpet beneath his feet.

Cuddy couldn't read minds but she definitely could read his body language. She took a good look at his tall frame, his bare chest and couldn't help but hope the situation was different. She propped herself up on her elbow and shook her face against her arm rather than having to suffer from the sight before her. House watched her from the corner of his eye, feeling helpless. She eventually wiped the tears she had cried with the fabric of her shirt and headed to where he stood by the bed. He couldn't look at her but as he felt her fingers interlace with his, her palm fitting against his, the contact was made. "I want to die." He told her, tears escaping the corner of his eyes.

"I know." She said before she led him to the bathroom.

They crossed the door hand in hand, House following Cuddy like a small boy who wanted to be held dearly, healed by his mother's touch.

Cuddy had lost track of time, she turned the shower on. She stared at the little platform where she could put the shower gel and shampoo for a second. She remained frozen on the spot but this, all of this, wasn't her decision to make. It would always be that way with House. She helped him out of his shirt whose appearance reminded her of how close to losing him she had been.

He let her remove his pants and watched her do so with delicacy he feared even Heaven couldn't hold. As she stopped at his boxers, he noticed her reluctance. She looked from the covered area of his groin to his navel and finally rested her hand on his waist.

Her gaze was stuck on the red spot where she had stabbed him with the syringe less than an hour ago.

When she tilted her head back to lock eyes with him, he didn't leave her time to say what was on her mind, "I can take care of it from here. Thank you." She nodded and left the bathroom.

With difficulty, he removed his boxers and limped into the shower. Under the shower spray, he saw Heaven in the form of two bottles: a gel of affection and the distilled spirit whose company had kept him within the boundaries of destruction for a week. He would feel less alone and hurt less.

* * *

When he got out of the bathroom wearing only a towel for he realized all his clothes were unclean or smelled, he thought this was as lucid as he could get. He saw her avert her gaze as soon as she saw how naked he actually was. No matter how much you tell yourself that a situation is grave, obsession with the forbidden fruit or the ways of life you used to share with someone cannot not resurface, that is how screwed up loving someone is, Cuddy thought.

"I don't care if you've shit in all your underwear, but you're not sleeping next to Rachel without a pair of boxers on." She stated as he came to seat on the chair opposite her.

That's the kind of sweet talk he was used to and smirked at that, "Thanks." He said as he stared at the mayo, ham and cheese sandwich she had made for him. His favorite.

They ate in silence, Cuddy watching her sleeping child from time to time.

At some point, she asked him if he planned on staying here, in this motel room.

"Yes. I'm not going back to your place, that's obvious." He paused and they both pretended his words didn't hurt, "And I'm not going back to my place."

"Why?" She asked, "At least you wouldn't have to pay –"

"I plan on running out of money."

"Don't you have some secret nephew you want to leave money to?" She tried to quip, the tension of what was left unsaid palpable

"Okay, see, here's the thing." He said wiping his mouth with the paper napkins she had bought, "I didn't ask you to come here to try and reason with me. I've asked you here because I need someone who can stick around for a random period of time. And there is only one someone I want in this world. It's you."

"House…" She tried but he wouldn't let her finish.

"I don't need your opinion, your judgment. I only want your assistance in case I finish myself off completely too rapidly. In exchange for that, I promise you to detox from the Vicodin. It's always been you or the Vicodin. I want you. But when it comes to the booze against you, the booze wins. And I don't want Rachel to see that."

"You said you didn't want to hurt me anymore. You chose to be alone and now you need me? You're pathetic."

"Of course I am!" He wouldn't negate her on that, "I realize that you're the only one who can actually be with me without judging me. You have the power to let me be with a certain amount of control over me. You've done that for years. Nobody else can do that."

"How is me letting you die going to help me?" She asked, practically yelling but toned it down a little so as not to wake Rachel up.

"Ignorance, Cuddy." He said as he started to search for a pair of boxers, "Simply ignore how I try to reduce my pain from an 8 to a 5 on the scale of 1 to 10."

"Are you asking me to take a leave of absence to be with you?"

"I am because it seems you are very eager to actually take one, why is that?" He inquired, suspicious.

"None of your business." She paused, "I'll call the hospital tomorrow and I'll go leave off Rachel at my mom's. As you know she leaves pretty close from here. If I don't ask her beforehand, she'll have no choice but to say yes."

"Also that way, you'll actually be able to go see your daughter." He said.

"That's very thoughtful, thank you." She bitterly replied, "I have this written piece of paper you know that states you lawfully promise to become Rachel's father. I think that as long as you're still alive, you can call her "our daughter"."

He sighed and holding the pair of boxers in his hand he had found, he watched her remove her shirt, "I'm going to bed", she said.

In a violent move, he removed the towel which had been covering his naked self but not only that. "Look at me!" He then said with a force he forgot he had which made Cuddy turn around in her underwear. Cuddy wasn't a pervert but the only thing she could look at was his groin. Or at least pretend to look at his manhood for the other thing he wanted her to look at was what marked him with a death warrant. "Don't look so fucking easily enthralled by my penis and take a good look at what you've been playing against. This is who I am, Cuddy. This destroyed thigh muscle has been making me die for years now."

"House, just stop… You are making this a problem it's not." She said as she moved back towards him, "Now put this on, please." She said indicating with her head the fabric he was holding in his hand.

"I've said it once, maybe twice Cuddy. But this is the only me you get."

"First the vicodin, now the alcohol? What's it gonna be next House, suicide?"

"Don't you realize that it's already on?"

"Ignorance, House. You're the one who suggested it. Don't you realize I'm doing exactly what you want me to do?" Had she not beat him at his own game, Lisa Cuddy would have put her clothes back on, taken her daughter with her and moved out of this dead end.

House titled his head back, closed his eyes, feeling his mess of a head wouldn't be able to take this in. His brains couldn't fight hers. "Now put your boxers back on and go to bed if you want to."

He watched her and realized his inhibited state was more advanced than he had thought. Going through cardiac arrest, lung constriction and backward flows of blood pumping out of his bad thigh, hadn't made him stronger of course, it had made him weaker. "I need your help this time." He said.

She searched his eyes. Eyes he was trying to cover up with side glances. "That was nicely put." She released the breath she thought she had lost the moment he had asked her for her help again. She wondered how many times he had asked her that in one night. Probably more than the couple of times he had voiced this need for help. This is why she preferred his silent callings; those didn't indicate his fate would be sealed. She took his boxers from him and without paying attention to his nudity; she crouched down and realized he couldn't even react in that way to her in his current state. She positioned his boxers in front of his feet, helped him raise his bad leg and kept staring at the pair of black underwear as she helped him slip them on. When she reached his waist, he put his hands on each side where hers were and said, "That… that doesn't mean I don't want you."

"I know." She breathed as she stared at their hands, "That means you just love me and hate me too much. You said so in your letter."

She tried to get away from his hold on her but he circled her waist with his hands instead, "I'm pretty sure that's the definition of love."

"Is it?" She asked, pleading him to stop with her eyes set on the blue of his.

"I'm a screw up. You are a screw up. We are the very definition of incompatibility and compatibility. Seriously, what twisted woman would go all the way to search for motels in the middle of the night for a jerk who doesn't love her?" He said, sincerely releasing his hold on her, "Not you."

"What twisted woman would stay with the man she loves and do nothing to save him from a looming death?" She asked as she went to stroke his stubbly cheek.

"That's not a question." He said, leaving a trail of destruction behind her caresses.

"But I have my answer." She said. "I'm going to bed now."

He watched her turn the lamp on the right bedside table off and get into bed.

* * *

Cuddy woke up seeing the sunlight passing through the blinds. She checked the clock on her mobile and saw that it was 6:30AM. She could feel her daughter –who was growing bigger and bigger with every passing day – pressed up against her under the covers.

She raised her body upward, making sure she didn't wake Rachel up. She could hear him snoring softly but the sound wasn't coming from where she thought he'd be sleeping: that is on the left side of the bed with them. Sighing in exasperation for lack of desperation at this hour of the night… morning, she got out of bed and tip toed to where he was, sprawled out on the floor, his bad leg propped up on a pillow. Cuddy looked for a spare blanket in the room wardrobe. She then proceeded to clean up the room a bit and put the empty food and bottles in the trash. Once it was clean enough for her to do so, she went to lie down on the floor next to him and put the blanket over them. She realized she had made up her mind about this long before they even were together. She couldn't help but need him too. Indeed, there was no escaping this. There never was. Romeo and Juliet, the star-crossed lovers, pale in comparison, Cuddy thought before her lover's body heat submerged her into slumber.

* * *

Soooo, verdict? xD Tell me about your hopes and dreams. ^^


	5. A Taste of Imperfection

Author's note: Hey guys! So sorry for taking so much time to upload. Life, uni etc. have been quite hectic. I have a week off in two weeks so hopefully I'll have more time to write the story. I really really hope you like this chapter. Cheers x

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Chapter 5: A Taste of Imperfection

The following morning, House had a hard time breathing when he woke up but as he saw the raven haired woman spooned up against him, he remembered bits and pieces of the previous night. Somehow he had no intention to remember how to breathe. He propped himself up on his elbows and in doing so, eradicated the lonely companionship he had wished to study; for these mornings would become scarce little by little. Still resting on his chest, she slowly opened her eyes and raised her head to look at the former owner of her comfort zone. "Hey" he said hoarsely with a tiny smile. "Thanks… for… staying, I mean sleeping with me… here." He said gesturing at the floor beneath their bodies, "I mean I'm guessing you did since you're here." She nodded, guilty by association.

It probably was his uncertainty. That could have almost broken her heart hadn't she thought about leaving him again this morning seeing he wouldn't wake up; he probably thought she would have been gone with Rachel as soon as the morning sun would have risen.

Speaking of Rachel, he realized she wasn't here, "Where is mini-you?" He asked her as she disentangled herself from him, not that their close proximity was to be confused with the perfect union.

"I took her to my mom's an hour ago." She said, thinking the contradictory reaction for him would be to become angry.

"What? I wanted to say goodbye to her, you should have woken me up!" He said insanely mad as he watched her stand up without any kind of reaction to his words.

"House, forget it –"She said dismissively but he cut her off.

"No, I won't forget this." He paused, trying to gain some balance as he stood up, "Last night you said I could still consider her a part of me and I won't start saying that this was a necessity but it could have been nice –"He added, following her in the bathroom.

How do I put it? He's going to hate himself even more. Not that this will change anything, Cuddy thought.

"House, SHE TRIED to wake you up when she came to wake me up. I was by your side for some part of the night. I… tried to wake you up but it's like you were comatose. And before you even try to criticize my medical opinion, of course I knew you weren't." She paused, looking at her face in the mirror, seeing his in the reflection. His gaze broke in understanding, he looked down upon himself when she continued, "She was scared, and I had to tell her that you were all right but a little tired. I knew you would wake up eventually but I figured it was the best time to get her out of this place." She turned around and thought that this must have hurt his feelings terribly, "If you want to see her later, we can always –"

"That won't be necessary. You were right to do what you did." He stated. And then it hit him, she could have really left him this morning and he had to make sure she would be staying, "I take it you're staying… in this place."

She nodded and said, "How do you make coffee in this place then?" with a clear emphasis on this place. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of giving meaning to something that lacked the sort of meaning she was fighting for.

"I brought my espresso machine." He shrugged and limped back into the room.

There was a big bag near the bed and Cuddy saw House take out the said coffee machine with capsules.

"When did you buy that?" She asked.

"I saw that John Malkovich and George Clooney was a match made in heaven, quite some time ago actually." He said, "Let's plug it in, shall we?"

"I bought peanut butter and bread. Not that you want to eat but I figure that could help you sustain all the alcohol you plan on swallowing." She couldn't believe she was saying that.

He didn't know what to say to that. He hoped her reaction would please him though. And it did. He didn't want her any other way.

A few minutes later, House played the waiter, "And voilà, two double espressos because I know how much you hate our ancestral American coffee."

"I don't hate it," she said taking one mug in her hands, "it's just too watery. I'd rather drink tea all day and risk peeing all the time than drink more than one American coffee." She said sipping on it, giving him a moan of approval, "God, this is so good."

He was glad she liked it. His leg would start hurting any minute now. Therefore, he had to start his morning routine which required inhibition. Cuddy watched him take out a bottle of Bourbon from the cabinet, which he opened and poured in his coffee.

"You're making Irish coffee with an American brand?" She asked, suspecting this could alleviate the situation. Her other reaction was to slap him in the face, "Isn't that some sort of abomination?"

He smirked at that, "It is but I'd rather stay on the same diet. Using another Whiskey brand especially from the British Isles could cost me my reputation."

"And what is your reputation in that case?" She inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Come on Cuddy, you know damn well that I'm a patriot!"

"Huh-huh."

"Did you call the hospital and tell them you wanted some time off?" He carefully excluded "need" from his question.

"I told them I needed a week." She clearly wanted to use it; whatever her aim was, House didn't like it.

"You think it's going to take me a week to end it?" He asked, suspicious.

"That's not about whatever outcome…"

"There isn't going to be any outcome and you know it."

"It's about the ultimatum I've given myself." She set the tone, not taking her eyes off his 'American coffee'.

"I either get you back or leave before I make it worse." She stated.

"Then I suggest you include me in this situation because I am going to make it worse, Cuddy. Not you." He stated finishing his ambrosia-like morning treat.

"I'm going to make it worse because I'm going to allow it."

There was nothing he could say to justify it all.

"Are you sure that you need to start this 'process' this early? It's not even noon yet and you're already drinking! And you're not even a real alcoholic." She stated, ready to make things worse from her side.

"Do you have an alternative to offer to my leg pain?" He knew this would hurt. It would go as this: she would tilt her head back, moving a hand through her crazy morning hair and try not to look at him. "I didn't think so." He added, seeing her doing his previous mental enumeration almost to the letter.

She kept silent for most part of the morning and after a couple of inappropriate words which remained part of a conversation he kept with himself, House got more and more borderline drunk.

"Well… maybe I should…" He said, standing up straight and feeling his shaky legs and wobbly head convey his body to fail him. "Maybe I should get a shower."

"A cold one for sure." Cuddy remarked. Her words made him feel ironically lighter.

"She speaks!"

"Just because I choose to remain silent does not mean I don't listen to you." She paused, observing him without any visible frustration, "By the way, my breasts are not bigger. That's the drinking talking."

"At least… one of my remarks made… a, "he spoke, drunkenly wide-eyed with admiration for her admission, "great impression!"

"You should stick to your fluctuating imagination rather than try to stand up." She said watching him try to reach the other side of the room where the bathroom was.

"I need a shower, I stink Lisa!" He said, clearly not amused by her tone and sensed he couldn't come up with some sort of repartee at this point.

"Don't close the door." She managed to say before he closed the door. Still comfortably seated by the table, she held back tears. The red alert could cease once he would turn the shower spray on.

"I knew you… wanted to… see me naked!" He feebly shouted from the bathroom.

"I can't hear you." She said, not loud enough for him to hear.

"Oh come on Cuddy…" He said trying to take his pants off.

"So it's Cuddy now." She said, louder this time.

"Lisa…Cuddy… who cares, you two are the same to me." He managed to say while limping to the shower. "Lisa is just scarcely used besides …" He said turning the shower spray on, "I like uncommon surnames such as ours."

Cuddy felt relieved when she heard the water pour in a linear rhythm, allowing her to cry her jerky one. In an instant the muscles in her upper body gave up, half trying to prop herself up on her elbows upon the table. She felt a deep obstruction restricting her air. The constriction of her lungs couldn't even act as a warning for her to try and control her emotionally heavy breathing. Her tears were the only body intervention left.

"By the way… when have I… called you Lisa…I don't… "He said, feeling dizzy to the point where the extra effort he put on his bad leg didn't condemn him into feeling more than the manageable pain the alcohol affected, "remember calling… ugh… you Lisa…oh…"

Cuddy heard a loud thud and suddenly, he called out her surname. She rushed to the other side of the room, opened the unlocked bathroom and saw House in a half-sitting position, trying to reach for the toilet seat in an attempt to find support. "I'm sorry… I" He said, looking about him, failing to look coherent.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, reaching out possessively to help him up. "I don't know." He said not realizing the vacuum-like sensations in his limbs didn't make Cuddy's task any easier. "House I need you to focus because, of us two here" she paused, trying to catch her breath and subsequently hide her teary-eyed face, "you are the strongest."

She eventually managed to help him use the toilet seat as well as herself for support not without difficulty. His eyes studied her efforts and frame every step of the way. In an attempt to stabilize both their bodies, Cuddy let her guard down for she failed to make him observe anything but her. Even in his drunken state, she knew he knew she was still coming out of quite a crying session.

"The shower can wait, let's get you to bed." She said trying to get him to move out of the bathroom.

"No… I want to take my shower… please." He begged like a child –so like him and yet so innocent, Cuddy thought.

"House you can't –"

"You can help me…"He cut her off, "I… won't… I promise… I won't do anything… I just need something." He roamed his hands over his stomach a couple of times, a motion not unconventional for incoherent lunatics such as him, she thought. "It will… feel… better after." He said with his puppy dog eyes, the eyes of an alcoholic who didn't want to be alone. She had every desire in the world to watch him suffer for putting her through this and yet not. He was looking for comfort; an unclear and inhibited search for comfort which could still be defined as such –adjectives scratched.

"'Kay." She uttered, "Give me a second." Silently asking him to fully support himself on the washstand, she took her top off in a swift motion, her pajama pants followed shortly after. Both in their underwear, they hopped into the shower with House somehow attentive enough not to put all his weight on her. The shower cabin was relatively small which prompted Cuddy, on her part, into feeling ill-at-ease –borderline intrusive on her ex-companion's privacy. Their shower privileges had disappeared quite some time ago when his personal space consisted of himself only. The only times they were intimate were during his pretentious and –sexually blessed she thought, possessiveness over her. The only times they had shared such close proximity were spent through her invasive need of him, a guilt-ridden acceptance. Their unhealthy situation reached a paroxysm thanks to their passive-aggressive nature. Hitherto, drunk or not, they both knew the sole reason he had insisted she got into the shower with him and for her to agree was because he had never stopped respecting her. Even there, studying her face under the shower spray, he showed her just how much he knew about the last ten minutes or so. As he passed a hand through her wet air, she noticed just how his eyes had only blinked so much. He stopped at her cheekbone and let his palm rest against it. He caressed the red spot under her left eye, admitting with his thumb that he had put her in an impossible situation.

He was asking her to be strong. Her tears might have reflected and exposed her emotions but they hadn't damaged the personal investment and involvement agreed upon. Her quasi-infallible stubbornness was something he had always admired her for.

She created an embrace instead, breaking the silent knowledge and common understanding he had offered. As long as he didn't have to see her cry, House was more than okay with that display of emotion. She would always be his comfort zone.

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GIVE ME LOVE. :D


	6. When It All Falls Apart

**Author's note: If you've seen Leaving Las Vegas, yes what I've done is awful: plagiarism… in part. But really, in the end, this is a tribute to one of the best movies ever.**

For those who feel this story is utter BS, please allow me the benefit of the doubt. As (hopefully) we all know House and Cuddy don't exist. They are fictional characters and I'm playing with them to show aspects of human nature you've probably never encountered in chick flicks. I'm not saying I'm doing this right. I'm saying I'm trying.

Anyway, I'm not telling you where this is going but there are hints in this chapter. As usual, there is a light at the end of the tunnel... well, I believe there is.

Rated M.

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Chapter 6: When It All Falls Apart.

_She created an embrace instead, breaking the silent knowledge and common understanding he had offered. As long as he didn't have to see her cry, House was more than okay with that display of emotion. She would always be his comfort zone. _

They remained in each other's arms a few minutes. Upon sensing him shiver because of the cool water running across their skins, she broke the contact and searched his face. He looked extremely peaceful and she wondered whether the reason behind his expression was the moment they had shared or something else. She put her hand to his neck and applied a small pressure with her index to check his pulse. It was going fast. Too fast. She turned around to stop the shower spray and covered his chest with both hands, moving one to caress his jawline.

"House-"

His eyes shot open from hearing her voice.

Concerned by his look and the fact that he was breathing quite heavily she asked him in a strong voice, "How much does it hurt?"

"Nine." He managed to say unable to control his breathing anymore.

"Lean on me. I'm taking you back to bed." He did so without a murmur. Hugging the walls for extra support, they made it back to the main room.

"You're detoxing, House. This is going to hurt like hell without proper medication." She said, helping him settle above the bed sheets.

"Don't you think I know that?" He practically yelled. Pain or no pain, she would be a pain to him as well.

"I need to get you to a hospital." She wasn't strong enough to deal with this.

"What have we agreed upon again?" He said gripping his leg intensely.

"Is suffering the only thing you know and wish to cherish?" She went mad.

"What if it is?" He said before the temptation to scream his physical pain was too strong. "DO SOMETHING."

"Okay, House. I have my prescription pad on me. I'll go get some morphine, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay?" Thinking she would give him the medicine the moment he'd be completely sober only. The waiting would be hard.

"I'm a doctor, I know." He said, still lucid enough to remember that mixing alcohol with morphine is fatal.

"But you're suicidal." She said, not caring about her choice of words.

"I'm going to die there's a difference."

That was the last straw. "Okay, Mr. My Life is Pathetic, I'm not going then."

"What? But I need-"He tried, clearly angry yet incapable of even raising one fist. He seized a piece of the bed sheet instead.

"You want to kill yourself? Fine! But I won't be responsible for the final blow." She said.

She got off the bed and he felt incapacitated as if both his legs had been chopped off, "Where are you…"he tried, "screw you Cuddy. You promised."

"I never promised you anything, House!" She yelled back. "I thought I could do this, watch you in this state and hope you would realize that you have me. That there are options you're just too scared to think of because you're a coward. You've always been one. It takes you years to make progress and seconds to screw it up." She paused, catching her breath. "So no House, I won't let you die. I'm going to leave this place, this hell you want me to fit into and I will receive a phone call in a couple of weeks from your mother telling me you're dead. Maybe sooner for all I know. I'll be on everyone's bad side; Wilson will have a death wish against me." She stopped, sensing she was getting to him, "But House," she finally added with a sad laugh, tears at bay, "you will let yourself die; I just won't be around to see it."

"That won't make you less responsible, though." He added for he didn't want her to give up. And yet his words spoke louder words.

"I know. But when you'll be gone, all charges will be dropped because you won't be able to put them on me."

"What are you saying? That I'm making you responsible?" He retorted.

"There," She said picking up a couple of bottles to put them on the bed, "enjoy your death drive."

"You can't do that!" He said, "You know there is no other alternative." He rambled.

"Yes I can, House!" It was as if his fragile state couldn't do anything to her anymore. The room fell silent and Cuddy took this opportunity to gather her clothes from the bathroom floor. She hastily donned her pair of jeans, t-shirt and shoes.

"Don't do this, Lisa." There was her surname again.

"I need you in my life, Greg." Lover or not she thought, picking up her raincoat.

"I need you too." For what's left of it, he thought.

She put on her raincoat, wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck and sighed as she went to pick her keys on the bedside table, trying not to open any sort of contact with him. He had no desire to let her go that easily though and so grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, keeping her close as much as he could with the strength he had left. "It hurts so much," he said, his face inches from hers, "don't leave me."

"Let me go, House." She said, on the verge of crying,

"I need you to stay –"He said again.

"And I want you to stop drinking." Unable to restrain herself anymore, she shed her tears and added, "I need you to stop this. So does Rachel."

"She's just a kid, she won't even remember me." He stated, on the verge of breaking their proximity for lack of strength. Or bravery maybe.

"Then pick yourself up for me because I will remember you." She said, determined to escape his hold on her. "Now let me go, please."

"No." He cried.

"Yes. You're a sorry and pathetic excuse for a man. You have no strength anymore." She replied, bitterly.

"I've never had any." He said, "But you love me."

"I'm not sure I do anymore." She said.

"No you do… you do…" His dementia could start kicking in any moment and she had no intention of witnessing that again.

His hold on her became loose; she wanted to run as far away from this place as possible. Her legs managed to bring her to the front door. As she gripped the doorknob, she heard him say, "Please… say goodbye to me." She closed her eyes, more tears threatening her detached investment. "Love me… let's… together… at least." She knew his pain would subside in time, she didn't think the pain would be so strong slumber would kick in this fast however.

"As you've said, you're hurting. Not sure you can even get it up." She replied emotionless and opened the door, "See you in hell, House."

The last thing he heard before he fell into a painless yet wide awake trance was the door being slammed shut.

* * *

He was on a plain, he could see zebras. Between Heaven and Inferno, he had no choice but to go somewhere. The gold field was his transition. And yet, within a minimal time, his stance on the issue would fade for the plain belonged to the projection his mind was making on the ceiling. For all he had gulped down in the past month, years even was making his brain boil with insanities sponging the pretty and the beautiful into a puzzle he had no intention of solving. Neither Heaven nor Hell was an option for him because there was one thing and one thing only he desired more than death. It was her, that he knew. She was supposed to be the safe haven before what should have been a smooth transition. It was set; he would get to see her from Hell for she was an angel and couldn't be sent to hell alongside him. As a non-believer, House wasn't afraid of his dementia. All he could see were fields of gold. A peaceful place for a fearless man it was. He could see himself getting smarter and his father hating him more and more for everything he was putting him through; courting dreadfully stupid girls in high school and getting punched quite a few times for it. How his first time happened during his high school prom with Sarah something the valedictorian. How he had banged her for three minutes that night, a record for a seventeen year old boy. Years of masturbation prepare no one for their first time. He smiled internally at the fact that he had been able to respect her enough not to think about destroying her speech at graduation and failing to do so when he learned she had been spreading rumors about his sexual exploits in the morning. Whatever he did to her during her speech blurred and he saw himself in 1984, acing his undergraduate years, glorified and gloating in his ability to score –cheating or not, awesome grades for his finals and a handful of one-nightstands. His mind was racing for he moved straight to the year he met Lisa Cuddy. The images juxtaposing themselves on the ceiling showed the plain and the zebras again, switched to the younger version seating on a bench –smiling, focused and loving everything but him. He could sense with his eyes the mattress deepening. Not trying to rack his brain around it, he figured the older version of her was making an appearance better than a life-still one, largely due to years of close connection to her. The fields of gold were back on and yet he could feel himself being kissed: his jawline first, then his cheeks. Lips continuously trailing kisses from his collarbone to his chest for which he was reactionless. Everything felt peaceful and suddenly he couldn't see the ceiling anymore for a black shadow stood above him. His eyes couldn't make out much.

"House." Even the voice was distorted.

"House." He heard again.

"It's daylight and yet the room is so dark." He recognized her from her touch.

"You look so sick, so pale and all I can think about is you. Do you want help? Do you want my help?"

"No. I want to see you. You my..."

"I'm right here. I'm right here." She said and he felt her lips against his.

"What is happening?" He asked, not sure whether he stood between fiction and reality anymore or simply beyond that. Hereafter it would be anyhow.

"Nothing. Shh… I'm here." Her words soothed him and his hand eased further down to his groin; to what had been bothering for a while now. The only thing he could do was to stroke it. She was here, everything to him and yet inaccessible. His brain was offering him one last chance to make a connection: through instinct, need –surely the most basic one. This could only feel right to him. It was genuine.

"Let me do it." He heard the voice say and felt her hand removing his and started rubbing the top of his penis with her thumb. "There. There you go."

"See how much I love you, Cuddy. " He said his eyes fixed on the ceiling hoping those damn zebras wouldn't come back. She took possession of his hard-on entirely and stroked it slowly.

"You know I love you." All he could feel was her hand on him. Beyond simple pain or pleasure, he felt anew, breathing her more than he could breathe himself. He felt nothing but her.

"I know." She yielded with a quiver. He felt her push his boxers lower down to his knees and caught her face in a flash when she positioned herself on top of him. It felt surreal.

His body went out of control when he felt her sex engulf his. It felt off but he had a penchant for things that felt off. From what he could gather, it was his moment. It was about him and she would guide her body upward and downward until he could feel something. Anything that belonged to him, he figured. Her face flashed a couple of times before him. He wished he could touch her, bring his thumb to her lips and have them part. It wasn't going so well but it was the only form of goodbye he would receive. As if death wasn't around the corner anymore, his day-dream of zebras, fields of gold and at the center of it all Cuddy, ended with a proper goodbye.

"Goodbye."

He fell asleep wanting more.

She disentangled herself from him, put her jeans back on, checked his pulse and caressed his cheek thinking this was the last medicine he would get from her. Careful that this should remain unbeknownst to him, she whispered something to his ear before she put her raincoat back on and left his peaceful hell.

* * *

GIVE ME LOVE. HIT ME WITH REVIEWS.


	7. Field Me In

**Author's note: Sorry for taking so much time to update but at least this one is a bit longer than usual. GIVE ME LOVE FOR THIS ONE. Also, I've had an awful week so that would be nice. **

* * *

Chapter 7: Field Me In

_She disentangled herself from him, put her jeans back on, checked his pulse and caressed his cheek thinking this was the last medicine he would get from her. Careful that this should remain unbeknownst to him, she whispered something to his ear before she put her raincoat back on and left his peaceful hell. _

House woke up feeling surprisingly alive with an urge to throw up. He noticed his flaccid penis was out of his boxer shorts. He put the eternal reminder of his affiliation to the male gender back in the tiny fabric and grabbed his cane by the bed the moment he noticed his ex-girlfriend had left something for him. He extended it to reach the bucket that was under the bedside table. He managed to move it close enough to him so that he could place it in time in front of it and atone for his sins through a much needed regurgitation of all his personal medications. He cursed a few times feeling the alcohol burning his esophagus. For Heaven or Hell could wait. His brain on the other couldn't. He lay back on his bed, exhausted however prone to probe his feelings as he was practically sober. He wondered what that dream had meant. He had seen a field, zebras and his life flashing before his life but not in its entirety. What his wet dream with Cuddy in it meant was something he couldn't put his finger on though.

He suddenly heard noises coming from the front door; the door was being unlocked. He could see a female silhouette coming through the door saying, "Sir? Are you alright, sir?" It wasn't her.

House put one and one together when he saw no light coming from the open door. It was dark.

"Yeah… yeah," He said, "Who are you?"

"Well I'm the owner of this place and I became suspicious when your friend left saying I should keep an eye on you." She paused, looking at the state of the place, "So, here I am!"

"Well you can get the hell out of here now, "He said, massaging his temple, "I'll be fine."

"Honestly, sir-"She started.

"It's Doctor, Doctor House to you lady." He quipped, already bored with what's her face of a punk.

"Hm okay, honestly Doc, you don't look fine to me."

"No kidding." He mumbled under his breath, "Listen Lady, I'm paying for this room. I pay for the privacy of this room…"

"And I pay many licenses to keep this place open." She said, "I'd rather lose a client than risk another suicide attempt. I may be a bit dumb but I know what I saw last night. If it weren't for your friend, you would be dead." She paused, "Take your things and go, 'doctor'." Halfway on her way out, she turned around, "Or…"

"Or?" He repeated with a mock tone.

"Or you let me call an ambulance and ask them to direct you to an AA center or something." She said.

"Oh so you aren't a heartless bitch, that's good to know. Wait! They have centers?" He quipped but then seeing her unmoved, sighed, "Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"I'm just following protocol." She shrugged.

"Well you've made your point, the universe is a bitch, thank you, and you can leave now. Move along." He said, trying to get up.

She shook her head and decided to head back in the direction of the bed, "Come on. Let me help you." She said as she put his armpit above her shoulder.

"Don't give me that pity look." He said, trying not to appreciate her gesture.

"You know, my father was a drunk." She began.

"Or the pity talk." He grumbled.

"Everybody hated him. I even hated him for a while although I was too young to remember him when my mother left him." She said and added, "Where's your suitcase?"

"Under the bed." He replied, "And please, don't bother with that story, I don't care about your daddy issues."

She shrugged his comment off and continued, all the while trying to pack his things for him. "I've heard from some of the people in my old neighborhood that once, he was so dead-drunk he confused a friend's baby with me and took it to our house." She paused, "When he saw the other baby in the cradle, well, me." She was smiling at that, "He thought I was someone else's kid, meaning my mother had cheated on him."

House spoke up, clearly interested in the idiocy of this confession, "Wait a minute, he thought your mother had been hiding a bastard child from him… just like that?"

"Hard to believe, huh?" She remarked.

"Well, coming from a drunkard, it's believable." He paused, "So I take it your mother left him after that."

The owner said nothing and he assumed things had happened this way.

"Where is your dad now?" House wondered, for no particular reason. At least that's what he thought.

"Six feet under." She replied, voice devoid of feelings

"When did he die?"

"The night he came back home dead-drunk." She said. She had turned around and upon seeing her face; he had noticed the change in her voice. It was a rough and yet sad tone in perfect coordination with the tears that had been feeling her eyes. "See, the story I've just told you is the story I've been telling myself for years because I want to believe he isn't dead. That he's just a bad guy, a sad excuse for a dad who went to live with a child he believes to be his. A child he can love."

House stared at her, his confusion epitomized in the look he was giving her.

"It's the only way I can picture him without thinking he was a failure. How he's failed my mother who loved him so dearly and… she ended up spending the rest of her life alone. She never remarried and was left with a fucked up kid. Me."

"But –"As much as it pained him to make a compliment –no, let's face it House, don't mix up types of pain he thought, "you're independent, quite pretty…not my type but all right and from what I've seen with your punk of a boyfriend: in a stable relationship and you've got a good business running. She must be proud of you."

"She died of cancer not long after my high school graduation. So no, she never saw me." She paused and he figured she would choose her words carefully now that she had him, "The little girl I saw with your girlfriend, is she yours?"

"She's hers." He deflected, yet the truth was apparent to the woman.

"Is she important to you?" She asked, "And don't lie."

"If it's a lie, I'll walk out that door. If it's the truth, I'll walk out that door as well." He said, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"There is a natural progression in a conversation. If you don't let me try to make a point-" She said.

"You're smarter than you make it look." He said cutting her off.

"You think it's too late." She realized, "You believe you won't ever get them back now."

"Your dad was right to end it. He had done too much harm."

"From what my mother told me, I'm sorry but no. The harm was done when his heart gave up that night." She retorted.

"You're losing your fight here, young lady." He said not looking that pleased with himself.

"My mother has never told me why he started to drink." She said, gathering the last of his things, "Pick up the clothes you want to put on, please." She added, trying not to look at his hideous scar.

"Maybe because your mother really cheated on him with another guy." He said, "Maybe you're blaming the wrong person in this story."

"Is your situation any different?" She asked, "I know you're blaming the woman you love for this." She paused observing him; the corner of his mouth had twitched at the mention of his woman. "I'm right."

House shook his head, "I don't know!" He shouted.

"What happened to your leg?" She asked, "I've seen you limp and that scar…"

"Not only are you a fucked up pseudo shrink, you are unimaginative." He said, showing clearly to her how much tired of this he was.

"It's a banal question." She shrugged.

"It's a question I've been asked for almost 20 years!" He shouted, "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? It's what causes all my problems. I was who I was before but it made me who I am today."

"That doesn't mean anything." She stated.

"It means that it will always make me an alternative version of who I am." He sighed, "And no, it's not a Star Trek reference."

"Well from what I can tell, you're a pretty funny guy. You've got a sarcastic sense of humor, I give you that but it's not always assholic."

"What kind of a word is that?" He said, putting on the last of his clothes.

"You are a lot of things, I'm sure. But first and foremost you're vulnerable."

"To what?" He asked, "Myself?"

She nodded, "But I'm no expert."

"Lady, we all are." He said.

"No experts?" She asked.

"No, the other one." He said, putting his jacket on.

"Take risks."

"I'm drinking, I think that's quite a big risk already."

"If you stop, that's a real risk you're taking. You can make yourself vulnerable to the world again. Not to yourself." She said and paused before she concluded, "I put myself out there, I blamed my dad, I blamed my mother but when my mother died, I came to the conclusion that I needed to blame myself –even just a bit, to realize that I was in the wrong to treat her badly for all the things she had to do to protect me from my father's memory, life and all that jazz. I don't want to get into details-"

"Again, please don't." He cut her off.

"But I will say this, I needed them and I pushed them away. I regret pushing away the memory of my father and telling myself he was living another life somewhere and for ruining my mother's parental skills."

"How can you possibly think such a twisted experience exist to help me?" He said, sitting on the bed.

"I don't." She paused, "I just know people like you have the desire to listen sometimes; and more than what people may think."

"You want me to believe there is an escape route?" He asked.

"There's one for everyone. And deep down you know which one it is. But you're the only who can decide to take it. It's the road not taken."

"Do you even understand Robert Frost?" He frowned.

"If I do, you'll walk out that door and if I don't, you'll walk out just as well." She said.

He rose to his feet, took his backpack, his cane and started to limp towards the door. He put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door for her. She watched his eyes and the way his body was giving her permission to leave. She stepped out of the room with House following her. House didn't know whether she had been surprised to see him invite her to leave alongside him or not. If she had been, she was good at hiding it he thought. On the porch, they stared at the grey sky before them. The wind blowing on his face was a nice touch, House thought.

"So where do we go from now?" He asked.

"You go your way and I go mine." She paused, "Which of course isn't as far as yours, I guess."

He nodded.

"Does your leg hurt at the moment?" She asked.

"The pain subsided a bit. Hopefully it will remain that way long enough for me to get to where I'm going." He said.

"Did I win?" She asked, almost proud.

"I win for stepping out." He said, with a small smile.

She gave him back that smile, "I hope you get through this, Dr. House."

"And… I… hope –"He stopped himself and rolling his eyes added "Damnit, you almost got me." He turned serious for a moment, "Leg pain or no leg pain, I am not nice."

"Wooo scary!" She retorted, "Well, technically you are."

"What?" He said.

"You stopped yourself before saying anything. I don't need anything. I got everything that I need." She said, "This establishment, my own car and a wonderful boyfriend. And I'm stupid enough to think this world is worth a shot."

"At least you admit you're stupid." He said, "But that's just the road not taken talking." He almost winked at her and without saying goodbye or looking at her one last time, walked away. She would have made a great Angel of Death he thought with a smirk, thinking of her punk looks.

* * *

"Hey Mom." Cuddy said as her mother opened the front door of her house.

"Lisa." Arlene nodded, I wasn't expecting you this soon." She said making way for her daughter to enter.

"I've come to pick up Rachel. I'm going back to Princeton."

"I take it you're going home alone." Arlene stated, noticing the deliberate omission of the first person plural pronoun.

"Not now, Mom." Cuddy said, "Where is she?" she added.

"She's asleep. Afternoon break." Arlene said. She sat on her couch and crossed her legs, "So, you've finally made the right choice. I'm very proud of you, Lisa. Greg is a limping disaster and nothing else."

"Seriously mom, stop it."

"Why? I can't congratulate my daughter now?" She said.

"I'm gonna get Rachel." She said and hurried to the staircase.

"You know, when you're ready to get back in the game, I know this perfect guy-"

Cuddy stopped halfway, way past the cringing internally part and walked back to the living room. "Tall, goy, blue eyes with a limp and completely unable to fit into this world? That guy mom?"

"Honey, I –"Arlene tried, prepared for such an outburst from her daughter and yet not.

"He's the perfect one to me and I've just left him. There will never be a perfect guy mom. He was the one. He was my perfect guy." Cuddy stopped herself, but arguably unable to stop her own tears. She took a deep breath and added, "And he'll be gone soon. So no Mother, I don't want to have that kind of discussion with you; I just want my daughter and go home."

Arlene did not retort. Cuddy took that as a sign that she could go get her sleeping daughter. She headed for the staircase once more and as she went up the stairs, tried to wipe away the tears with her sleeve to not give away anything once she would see Rachel. She hoped her child wouldn't wake up however.

Entering the bedroom, she saw her sleeping daughter under the covers and sighed. She pushed the bed sheets aside and picked her up, making sure not to wake her. Arlene had not unpacked Rachel's things yet which implied there were risks of another confrontation. One she had no desire to have. She needed peace. Rachel was quite heavy now and she didn't have much time before he arms would give up on her.

As quickly as she could, she went down the stairs. She saw her mother by the door with the plastic bag she had with her when she had left her daughter the same morning. Things she had to buy at a gas station for she had been in such a hurry. Indeed, there were other priorities at the time she thought. Now, her only priority was resting in her arms.

"Here's her stuff." Arlene whispered.

"Thanks." Cuddy said and Arlene opened the window, picking up the bag to join her daughter and granddaughter to the car.

Cuddy opened the backdoor, positioned Rachel in a seating position and fastened her seatbelt. She closed the door delicately and moved to the other side of the car to get into the driver's seat.

Her mother chased after her which prompted Cuddy to start the engine faster.

"Less than a day, Lisa!" She said, louder this time, "It took you less than a day to leave him. I don't know why. I know he loves you and I know that you love him."

"Mom, please." Cuddy said, "Just let it go!"

"I can't let it go, Lisa! I had accepted him. And Rachel… she talked about him almost all day long, about how you had to take care of him because he wasn't feeling well. How she was sad she couldn't say goodbye to him. What on Earth happened, Lisa?"

"He's hurting and he wants to die, Mom!" She cried, "And it almost made me want to die with him." After her mother gave him the shocked expression she had expected, she continued, in a lower tone, "I'm an awful girlfriend for not doing anything. For letting him trick me into watching and whatnot help him die. And above all that makes me an awful mother for even thinking about separating myself from my daughter. It only lasted like an instant but still I thought about that. And it made me sick."

"That's okay Lisa, calm down and try to control your breathing for Yahweh's sake." She paused hoping her direct reference to Judaism would get her attention, and alleviate things she hoped, "It's normal, only natural even, Lisa. You love this man. He gives you the kind of love you can't get from your daughter." Arlene tried to reassure her daughter. "When your father died, I wanted to die too." She admitted.

"Okay." Cuddy said.

"Now, please, promise me you'll drive safely." Arlene said, knowing from that simple word that the conversation was over but impregnated in her daughter.

"I will." Cuddy said, "I'll call you later." She pulled up the window.

Arlene stared at her precious mini-her and some go. After a couple of minutes, she went back inside her house and picked up her cell phone. She dialed a number she had only called a couple of times in the past couple of years, waited for the answering machine to kick in, quit being jerkiness personified and said, "Don't bother committing suicide, I'm coming for you Gregory House and I'm going to kill you myself for hurting them, as promised." She hung up on that.

* * *

House had been walking less than a mile when he finally saw the bus station. He knew he wasn't too far from his destination. On the other side, he thought he could skip this whole plan altogether and just take the bus whose destination was Princeton. "What are you doing, House?" He talked to himself. "What are you doing?" Too scared to make a decision yet, he figured he could play it heads or tails –except he had no intention to look for a coin. Instead, House seeing not so many cars passing by, decided to stand on the middle of the road and wait for the first bus that would approach. He had no desire to care whether fate would be on his side or not. He put his bag on the ground beside him and scrounged for a pack of cigarettes he had placed somewhere in his jacket. An addiction that would buy him some time, he fathomed. That's a step, he thought. He lit a cigarette and took this opportunity to observe the landscape. He wished he could run down that straight forward road and never stop. Get free. That, he knew for sure was something he wanted. He shrugged that need off quickly as he remembered such things were designed for marathon runners and not for the lame. Or alcoholic. He was thinking. Thinking about his addiction was making him crave for it again. He hated that. He wasn't ready to give up. Not so soon, he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment and eventually heard the roaring of a vehicle approaching. It was coming up front. He opened his eyes and saw one of the two buses he had been waiting for. He took a deep breath, picked up his things and walked to the bus stop. The driver parked the grey bus near the stop. The automatic doors opened and House got on the bus. The old driver welcomed him and said, "Next stop Parsippany! Where you headin' young fellow?"

Young? He seriously hoped this guy wasn't blind and could in fact drive that old disposable piece of private transport. House looked at him with a suspicious look.

"Oh come on! You're not that old!" The older man asked from the lack of response he was being confronted with. "Well? Where you goin'?"

House licked his lips and said, "Do you stop at Mayfield?"

"Mayfield it is!" He said and House nodded as he joined the other passenger to find a seat.

As the bus ran on, he sat by the window and a couple of yards later saw the bus heading back to Princeton pass by in a hazy flash.

* * *

**Tadam! Still don't see where I'm going yet? Give me your impressions!**


	8. Author's note  update

Hey guys !

A friend of mine asked me to write the end of this story. I'm sorry I never got the time to properly finish it.

So if you're on board, I'm happily doing it (okay I'm sort of reading the fic again to make sure I don't make mistakes and I'm also totally writing from where I left it. I started chapter 8 about a year ago… so be prepared for one hell of a huddy finale. ;) )

This story doesn't include the end of season 7. This is an AU.

Please, just review if you want it. This will help A LOT.

(I have another fic in progress but I don't think it is as good as this one, therefore I'm giving this one a chance.)


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